


Green Beans

by Curlew



Series: Green Eggs [2]
Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Episode related Shootout, Hurt/Comfort, Hutch Angst, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curlew/pseuds/Curlew
Summary: A follow on to my story Scrambled Eggs- more post Shootout angst- but I think it works on its own.You can grow oranges in pots- I’ve done it.I wanted to link to the album they were listening to, but I couldn’t make it work. It’s called Getz/Gilberto- specifically the track Corcovado.
Series: Green Eggs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192160
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Green Beans

“What do you want to do with all this stuff?”

Starsky contemplated the accumulation thoughtfully.

“Hutch will adopt the plants- they’ll fit right in at his place. I’m sure you people can find a home for the flowers - except for those blue ones, I like those. And the candy, except for the dark French chocolate - Hutch loves that brand” 

“Hutch adopt the plants, really? He doesn’t see the type’

“You kidding? His apartment’s a freakin’ jungle!”

“He seems kind of.....stiff”

“Yeah- he can come across that way. You haven’t been seeing him at his best. He’s pretty strung out. And all this stuff in the papers hasn’t helped”

“Doesn’t he dig being the Linguine Hero Cop?”

Starsky laughed, then winced.

“Really not his scene, sweetheart! Got to sit down a while. How about you take the flowers and candy to where they’ll do the most good”

She loaded the trolley and wheeled it off. Starsky leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was up and dressed for the first time in a week, and it had taken it out of him. Still, he wasn’t doing too badly for someone only seven days from a life threatening bullet wound.

The first two days had been bad. Sick and dizzy and miserable from concussion and anesthetic reaction and a post operative fever, counting the minutes til the next painkiller, resenting the therapist relentlessly forcing his reluctant back and shoulder muscles to move, he had clung to the ever present Hutch like a physical and psychological anchor. Then things began to improve. His head cleared, his wound began to heal and his natural good spirits began to reassert themselves, helped by the stream of flowers, presents and visitors the press interest in the case had prompted.

The attention had the opposite effect on Hutch. On the Commissioner’s orders, he had given an interview for the evening news that had been so excruciating it made him cringe every time he thought about it, despite everyone assuring him it was “fine”. Someone had given the papers a particularly flattering and glamorous photo that appeared for 3 days running, much to the amusement of friends and colleagues, who delighted in repeating the “Pin-Up Cop” headlines, and the over excited comparisons to Robert Redford. All in all, it had not been one of his better weeks. 

Once Starsky no longer needed his constant presence, the mountain of paperwork generated by the Internal Affairs investigation and by building the case with the District Attorney’s office had filled his days. But the IA was happy, he had done everything he could for the DA, and Dobey had shooed him out of the office with strict instructions not to return until the following week. There had been a minor earthquake a little way up the coast and an actor in a popular cop show had been hit with a paternity suit by a guest star, so with a bit of luck, his 15 minutes of fame were over. It was with a lighter step that he ran down the stairs to the car park and set off to spring Starsky from the hospital.

This took longer than he expected. He should have known that after a whole week, Starsky would have many new friends to say goodbye to. And a worrying number of the nurses had brought copies of THAT picture in the hope that he would sign them, offering a range of incentives that made him blush and Starsky grin. 

But eventually, they were in the car, the backseat covered in plants, cards and candy. For a minute they sat in silence- then both exhaled at the same moment.

‘Hey”

“Hey yourself”

“How are you doing?”

“Been better- been worse. You?”

“Same. Home?”

“Yeah”

By their unwritten rule, “home” when they needed rest and recuperation was Hutch’s shady plant filled apartment, with its smell of the ocean and growing things. Starsky’s place was for music and parties and late nights, Hutch’s for quiet, and talk and healing.

It took Hutch three trips to get all the stuff up the stairs- a feat he achieved in the time it took Starsky to get himself up them once, and he was pale and sweating and nauseous by the time he made it to the top. Hutch went into full mother hen mode, settling him on the sofa, bringing water, and pillows and sorting through the paper sack of pill bottles from the hospital to find the pain killers. For a while, Starsky felt bad enough to let him fuss, but soon things calmed down, and he reached out to restrain him.

“Hutch, I’m fine. How about you make us coffee, put on some music and come and sit with me. Some of that midnight sort of jazz stuff you like”

Hutch’s eyebrows went up “Stan Getz? Sure you’re not still concussed? That’s really not your thing. What about some food? Shower? Do you want to go to bed?”

“None of the above. I want to sit and listen to music with you and breathe a while”

Hutch made the coffee and put on the album, perched on the edge of the sofa then jumped up.

‘I’d better go and see to all those plants...”

“They’ll wait. Sit back and drink your coffee”

Reluctantly, Hutch moved back and picked up his mug. After a bit, Starsky shifted a little so he could rest his right hand lightly on the back of his neck. Then he began to stroke from hairline to shoulder, digging his fingers into the rigid tendons.

“Don’t, Starsk- you’ll strain your back”

“I’ll stop if it hurts”

Another protest, then a sigh and the shoulders dropped a little. The music played, the breeze blew in from the ocean, Starsky’s hand continued its gentle massage, and the world slowed down around them. 

“You’ve had a real shit week” Starsky’s voice was low and gentle, but Hutch leapt to his feet.

“Huggy and Edith filled the icebox-I’ll just have a look and we can decide about dinner”

Damn, damn, DAMN! Starsky chastised himself. Too soon, you moron. Time to change tactics.

He levered himself to his feet and followed Hutch to the kitchen.

“What we got?”

“Beef stew and baked potatoes?”

“Sounds good”

He waited until the food was in the oven.

“So, tell me’

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me how this is all your fault”

He was soon following Hutch onto the deck.

“You do know I’m supposed to be resting?”

“Go rest then”

“No”

“Starsk.....”

“No”

Starsky lowered himself carefully into one of the garden chairs, and picked an orange from the tree in the pot beside him - then realized he couldn’t peel it one handed. Wordlessly, Hutch took it, peeled and segmented it and handed it back. Starsky took half the segments.

“Half each”

The fruit was delicious. Sweet and sharp and fresh- as far from hospital food as it was possible to be. Starsky picked another, and held it out. This time Hutch divided it in half before handing a share back. 

“Kinda cool to grow stuff you can eat”

“Yeah. There’s green beans ready we can have for dinner too”

They sat in the dappled sunshine, the scent of the orange lingering in the air. Starsky considered offering a hand, but judged Hutch still too skittish. Instead, he studied his friend critically.

“You look like you could use a few square meals and a week of sleep”

It was true. Starsky had never met anyone who could visibly lose weight and  
spark as quickly as Hutch could. A happy Hutch was a thing of gold and blue and glowed as if lit from within. This was not a happy Hutch. And David Starsky knew it was his job to turn that inner light on again.

“Yeah, you look terrific, too”

“I got cause....oh, no, you stay put, buddy- there’s nowhere else to run to. I’m not chasing you into the john”

Hutch sat back down again, the furrow between his brows deepening. 

“What’s eating you? Is it the commendation? The medal? The Mayor’s reception? The fan letters? The lifetime’s supply of free Italian food? The star struck nurses? The....”

“Starsk- I almost got you killed! I made a fucking rookie mistake, and you damn near died because of me!”

Starsky shrugged. 

“Lockley’s a pro. And you may look like Captain America, but I hate to break it to you, you aren’t. Just a cop, off duty, with no reason to be alert. Nothing you could have done, buddy”

“But......”

“No buts. And be quiet, I’m talking. The minute I took those bullets, I knew we were in big trouble. But even before I hit the deck, I was thinking - it’ll be OK, Hutch is on it. And I kept on thinking that. Getting shot really, really hurts- more than you can imagine-hope you never find out. But I could deal with it because you were there. Oh, and by the way, I knew you were lying about it being just a shoulder wound- I knew it was worse than that”

“How?”

Starsky grinned “That little stammer. Cute as a button, but gives you away every time. Anyway as I was saying, I knew, just knew, that you’d get us out of it. And when you leant against the wall with the weight of the world on your shoulders - oh, yes, I saw that- I thought you were the bravest, strongest thing I had ever seen. And the most beautiful. Just so you know’

Hutch’s eyes came up to meet Starsky’s- both shocked by the word.

“Yeah, well. You’re not exactly Quasimodo. You must have noticed that over the years. Stands to reason I have too”

For a breath, time stood still. Then hands reached out and fingertips touched. 

“You OK?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah”

“Hutch?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry”

Hutch’s head went back and he laughed. Starsky relaxed. Job done.


End file.
